


New Year: Same BatGrinch

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [10]
Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Sex Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark gets a cold, and Bruce knows revenge is a dish best served cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year: Same BatGrinch

“A nold?” Clark asks, confused by the way his voice sounds, as if he was shouting down a tunnel.

J’onn gave a single nod of assent. “I believe the symptoms will only last forty-eight hours or so. I would suggest you stay under the sun lamps in the back of the Javelin to expedite your recovery.” 

“Is he contagious?” Batman growls from where he’s standing in the door. 

Clark narrows his eyes and glares at Bruce as best he can. He’s not really feeling like fighting with Bruce right now. Instead, he’s trying to figure out how to breathe with only one nostril and a sore throat. But since he rolled his head to glare at Bruce, the snot shifts, clogging both nostrils. Clark wonders if he could just hold his breath until the cold passes. 

“I do not believe so.” J’onn continues, as if unaware of Clark’s struggles with his snot. “I suspect you would already be showing symptoms, as we were all on that moon together.” 

“I that hiss.” Clark mutters, trying to tell them he’s not enjoying his first cold, that he actually hates this feeling. 

“It will pass, Kal. I would suggest you try and sleep, while we head for Earth.” 

“Tho tha.” Clark closes his eyes in annoyance. How can he not even say an o and k anymore? The door slides shut, leaving Clark alone, just when he feels he could really use someone to worry about him. When he has a mental image of Bruce cooing at him and feeding him soup, Clark figures he’s starting to get delirious. 

The interplanetary mission had gone well, even if Bruce had insisted everyone know it was a moon they were on. Six of them had gone on this mission, so they’d been able to take the largest ship the JL had. J’onn and Shyera were not human, but they weren’t sick. The other three were human, and they weren’t sick either. It wasn’t fair and Clark curled up on his side, wishing it was dark instead of bright with sun lamps. Except, curling on his side, made all the snot in his noise shift. Disgusted at his own body and sundry fluids, Clark reached for the tissues. It was going to be a long ride home. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Clark wasn’t sure if it was the next day, or years had passed in a slow kind of hell that they didn’t want the dying man to know about. He was, technically, feeling better, but his snot still seemed to have a mind of its own. J’onn had brought him soup and made him eat it. Shyera had brought in some tea, but looked suspiciously at it. To Clark, it tasted like something he’d had at Wayne Manor, once upon a time. Maybe the tea was from Bruce, but Bruce stayed away and made Shyera bring it to Clark. Which made Clark think he’d never visit the manor again, not after what happened last time he was there. 

He’d cheered Bruce up with a little friendly, and loud, sex. With Alfred in the house. It still made Clark blush to think about, and he doubted he could ever face Alfred again. If he went in to rescue Alfred from a bomb, he’d have to do it so he wouldn’t have to look at Alfred while rescuing him. Clark also knew his embarrassment wasn’t enough; Bruce was going to get some sort of payback for that night. He’d hoped to come up with a way to make it up to Bruce before Bruce acted, but he kept getting distracted by memories of that friendly, loud, sex. 

Even half asleep from the germs attempting to stop time and kill him, Clark still defensively pulled the blankets up to him when Bruce finally stopped by. Bruce was wearing sweat pants with pockets, a t-shirt, but no mask. Clark licked his dry lips, knowing a relaxed, casual looking Bruce wasn’t a good sign. When Bruce reached into his pockets and pulled out a device, Clark considered screaming like a two year old until J’onn came to rescue him. 

When it became clear the diabolical device was a W.E.pod, Clark relaxed a little. Bruce started it up, and placed the earbuds in Clark’s ears. Clark got a good look and realized it was his W.E.pod, and he was listening to the swish of fine fabrics. Confused, he glanced at Bruce, who was studying Clark’s reactions. 

_“Anything interesting in the news, Alfred?”_

_“Only one major disturbance last night, sir.”_

There was a pause, long enough for Clark to wonder if his battery had died, when Bruce on the recording started speaking again. 

_“Last night with Clark wasn’t my idea. He just showed up, said you put on the sexy music for him.”_

The reply to Bruce’s words was a rustle of fabric, suggesting he was shifting whatever bit of clothing he’d put the recorder into. The recorder he’d grabbed from his bedroom just to make this recording, so Clark would know what he was being punished for. 

_“Yes, even though it’s a rock song with suggestive lyrics, it’s still considered sexy by a lot of people, including Clark apparently. Fine, and me.”_

More silence, but less rustling, as if Bruce was forcing himself to not squirm under Alfred’s _look._

_“It was just the one time.”_

Silence. 

_“Well, no, Clark and I have, well, before, but it was safe and consensual. He doesn’t get human diseases, and he’s not likely to get pregnant, so it can’t get much safer than that.”_

A soft clink sound, as if someone was replacing a tea or coffee cup back into the saucer. 

_“It’s not like that! It’s work stuff.”_

_“Yes, I know how silly that sounds, but it really has been necessary or in the line of duty. Once it was even a medical necessity.”_

_“I am not making this up!”_

The silence here was so thick it made Clark think of his mucus from yesterday. 

_“I’m also not forcing him into anything. How could I? He’s Superman and invulnerable.”_

_“Right, nigh. His heart will kill him one day. But even I can’t force him to feel something.”_

Clark tried not to take offense at the idea that Bruce could make him think whatever Bruce wanted him to think. It was true, but still offensive. 

_“Really Alfred, it’s just sex, bodies in need, friends with benefits. No, I don’t need to justify this thing with Clark to anybody.”_

Another pause, but it wasn’t Bruce’s voice that broke the silence. 

_“Master Bruce, the disturbance I was referring to was the suspicious fire at the corner of Eastman and Laird. Two homeless men were killed in the warehouse.”_

Now the silence came from both men, and it was a subdued Bruce who broke it this time.

_“Right, I should look into that.”_

Alfred was good, making Batman squirm without saying a word, letting his guilty conscious do all the work. Clark found he was grinning when Bruce took the W.E.pod away. The look on Bruce’s face said that grinning was not appreciated, as he considered the whole thing Clark’s fault to begin with. 

“Now, Bruce, I agree with everything you said. I wasn’t grinning at how Alfred was able to manipulate you with a raised eyebrow or two, I was amused by all the right things you said.” 

“Okay, that might be a bit of a lie, but I’ve been sick and you can’t expect a sick person to think clearly. Except you, you always think clearly.” Clearly, Bruce also paid attention to Alfred’s technique, because he was just standing there, _looking_ at Clark. 

“It’s not sucking up when it’s the truth! You do a lot of thinking.” 

That got an eyebrow twitch out of Bruce, and Clark redoubled his efforts. 

“Yes, thinking is a good thing, it solves a lot of problems, and I promise to try and do more thinking myself. Would that work for you?” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but not quite into the Bat-glare he normally used. Clark tried for the sympathy vote. 

“I’m feeling a lot better, thank you for asking, but I’m still not whole. I would appreciate it if you talked to me, or let this wait.” 

No change. Clark decided to appeal to Bruce’s rationality. 

“Bruce, you’re good, but you’re not Alfred. You’re going to have to do some talking if you want me to admit to my sins or promise not to do it again, or whatever strange thing you want. That look only works on the guilty, and we don’t have anything to be guilty of.” 

Finally, Bruce responded, by silently moving on to the next task at hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Yes, I can see that you’re pulling my pants off, though I don’t know why you opened the retractable stirrups on the table. Why do we even have stirrups in the medical tables? Never mind, I probably don’t want to know what reason you had for including them.” 

Bruce carefully put each of Clark’s feet in a stirrup, and then pushed them to the sides so he could step right up to Clark’s pelvis. 

“Oh!” 

The startled exclamation elicited a twitch from Bruce’s left upper lip, something of a smile. 

“Bruce, tell me that’s not the reason you included stirrups.” 

Bruce dug something out of his sweat pants before shoving them off his hips. 

“Ok, not the reason, but you’ll use them if the opportunity arises.” 

Bruce traced his fingertips lightly down the inside of Clark’s thighs, and grinned at Clark’s nonverbal reaction. He wasn’t fully hard from one stroke, but close enough to prove he was feeling up to it. 

“So your revenge for the conversation with Alfred is anal? I can accept that, though I much prefer the noises you make to this silence.” 

That earned Clark a real, if fleeting, Batglare. Apparently Bruce didn’t like to think of himself as anything less than the silent ninja he wanted to be. Clark would remember that, when Bruce wasn’t leaning down to kiss and suck at his thighs. 

“I didn’t know you could do gentle.” Clark’s whisper was rewarded with a bite to the soft skin of his thigh, so he decides to remain silent. This lasted until Bruce made his way to Clark’s prenium, and stayed there for far too long. “Up, Bruce, please. Or down, I don’t care, I need more!” 

Bruce responded, moving down to tongue Clark’s asshole and Clark managed not to thank all gods everywhere, at least not out loud. 

“Oh!” More than a revelation this time, it’s a plea for new sensations and Bruce takes it for what it is. There’s the sound of lube, and Clark hisses out his want. “Yes.” 

That gets one finger, which rubs and stretches for far longer than Clark needs it. “Bruce!” 

At last the second finger is inserted. 

“Thank you.” Clark says and really means it, but it gets the third finger shoved in before he’s quite ready for it. Bruce is precise and careful, so Clark thinks there is something more than anal at play here. 

“Bruce?” Clark starts to question, but is distracted by the removal of that third finger. Clark misses that third finger now. Bruce really expects Clark to figure out this game while he’s got a finger rubbing Clark’s prostate just so? 

“Thank you.” That does get the third finger back in, so Clark tries to focus on the words involved. Yes, Bruce and thank you. Connection? Bruce liked to be thanked? “Thank you?” 

No change. Clearly not the answer Bruce was looking for. 

“Yes?” Two fingers were removed, leaving that ‘not as large as Clark needed’ single digit. Single, that was the key, but single what? What about the word ‘yes’ also made ‘Bruce’ not-single? Clark props himself up on his elbows, to look for clues on Bruce’s face. Bruce’s face is purposely, carefully blank, but his eyes are dancing with glee. 

“Glee?” No change. “Happiness?” 

Three fingers, and Clark lets his eyes roll closed in joy. “Joy.” 

One finger. So joy, glee and yes had one. Bruce had two, thank you had three. Three what? “Jackass.” 

Two finger. Two words? No, thank you was worth three and Bruce two. Syllables? 

“You want me to talk in multisyllabic words while you’re fucking me?” 

Bruce didn’t pull out his fingers, just stopped all motion from them. Which gave Clark just enough time to find the right way to agree. 

“Affirmative!” 

Clark could hear Bruce smirk, so he dropped back down to the meditable. He knew he couldn’t think of big words, speak them clearly and watch Bruce fuck him, while being fucked. No one was that good. Bruce rubbed a bit more before pulling out his fingers, and slowly sliding his cock in. 

“You going to add fingers with that in there?” 

That earned Clark two deep thrusts, and a pause during which to think. Longest word in that sentence was fingers, two syllables, so his syllables would result in the thrusts he needed to really enjoy this. 

“Sick bastard.” 

Two thrusts, two syllables in bastard. 

“Logophile.” 

Three thrusts. 

“Penetration.” Clark knew he had more words in his head, but each rewarding thrust made him forget them all, made Bruce wait between thrusts, pulling Clark back from the edge he was so looking forward to going over. 

“Heartbeat.” 

One halfhearted thrust, as Bruce thought two words together didn’t count. 

“Bastard!” 

No thrusts, as repeating words didn’t count. Maybe it didn’t count for sex, but it sure was a heartfelt sentiment right now. 

“Sentiment.” 

Three thrusts. 

“Springsteen!” 

No thrusts, so names were out. 

“Shit.” 

One thrust that missed Clark’s prostate, on purpose and Clark knew it. 

“Conceited misanthrope.” 

Three thrusts, not six, so no points for complete sentences, or complete insults. So it would be best to speak the word and pause, get his reward and produce another word. 

“Beautiful. Detective. Refrigerator. Inquisitive. Hyperventilating.” Clark was close to hyperventilating himself when Bruce finished rewarding him for that word. “Surreptitious. Navigation. Parochial. Compatibility. Osculating. Introspection. Exacerbating. Masturbating. More, damn it!” 

One slow, languid thrust when Clark was so sure Bruce was too close to stop. Bigger words, he needed much bigger words. 

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” 

Nothing, and Clark knew he shouldn’t have hoped, even if it was in the spell checker on his computer. No made up words, so how about words that sounded made up, like medical terms? 

“Gastroesophageal.” That got Bruce back on the right track, the moving one. “Transcendental. Echocardiogram.” 

Clark’s brain stuttered to a halt, with all those rubs in a row, each one aimed at his prostate. In the mandatory pause, Clark could feel Bruce trembling around where he was penetrating Clark. Bruce was ready, needing his own release, and it was tempting to make Bruce wait, but not nearly as tempting as finishing this. Propping back up on his elbows, Clark looked down at Bruce and offered his next word in a remarkably clear voice. 

“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis.” 

Clark didn’t try to count the syllables, trusting Bruce not to cheat. Clark closed his eyes and took his punishment, climaxing somewhere around the three thrusts in volcano. Clark rode his orgasm, feeling galaxies away from the crappy way he’d felt last night. He didn’t feel Bruce pulling out, but what pulled him back to reality was the feeling of being watched. 

Clark looked for the words to tell Bruce to quit staring at him, but Bruce had ruined his vocabulary. Opening his eyes to glare at him, Clark realized it wasn’t Bruce watching. Leaping up and out of the stirrups, and spinning so his naked bottom half was on the far side of the meditable was an instinctual act. Swallowing hot embarrassment as Bruce’s cum started leaking out of his ass with the change in position and gravity, Clark reached for a reserve of politeness to explain things to Green Lantern and Flash. Except, John was looking anywhere in medical except Clark and Wally. What was that about? 

“For pity’s sake John! Just tell Wally you’d like to try this activity with him.” Clark was surprised by the exasperation in his voice, and decided he shouldn’t try and give relationship advice with Bruce’s fluids in him. That had to be what made him sound way too much like Bruce. 

Wally whipped his head around to stare at John, blush turning him the same color as his uniform. Since he was the only one who could easily see Clark when he moved at speed, Clark used the distraction to clean and dress. Once that was done, he sat on the edge of the meditable and spoke like his normal self. An apology, but no explanation or naming of his partner, and Clark convinced John to talk to Wally. 

They left shortly afterwards, but Clark stayed where he was, trying to convince himself he didn’t need to get back at Bruce for this. The really disturbing part of Clark’s thought process was the part of him that wanted to do something else that would elicit revenge from Bruce. Bruce’s revenge was a dish best served hot, sticky and silently. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
